Free Fallin'
by TB's LMC
Summary: This is sort of a what-happened-in-between for Way 25 of my Thunderbirds shorts "100 Ways to Uncomplicate Your Life" because it needed to be written. You might want to read that Way first to get the context in which this takes place. Very short oneshot.


_Reference: This is sort of a what-happened-in-between for Way 25 of my Thunderbirds shorts "100 Ways to Uncomplicate Your Life" because it needed to be written. You might want to read that Way first to get the context in which this takes place._

_Thank you to Sam for the really fast once-over._

**FREE FALLIN'**

Where is he? What's happened? Everything's so strange. The murky darkness surrounds him one moment, the next is colored by shapes and letters and faces too bright and too blurry to make them out. There has to be something he's missing, but nothing he's seeing makes any sense.

The last he remembers is the rescue. The building. He's on the inside trying to dig out a survivor. Virgil's holding up the wall with the Domo. Everything's going according to plan. There's no reason to worry, they'll be out of there before they know it.

But 'there' certainly isn't here, wherever 'here' is. He sees a glowing triangle seem to speed past him, reaches out to grasp it; it's gone before he can. An orb, pale pink but so brilliant he can barely keep his eyes open and he tries to move but realizes there's nothing to move with.

He's got no legs.

He looks down.

No _body_.

Panic rises within him, he knows this is wrong, so wrong, he can't be seeing...or not seeing...what he thinks. It's not possible! He can't be dead! This can't be death, this isn't what Kyrano talks about! No, he refuses to think that, refuses to believe, because nothing happened out there! He was inches from rescuing the woman, so close to finishing the call-out and getting on with things.

Yet he's not anywhere near the Danger Zone. He's not anywhere near the Thunderbirds or his brothers...where _is_ he? If this isn't death, what can it be?

Another shape floats by, this one trapezoid, red, pulsating, and then the darkness is lit by an anchor shape that's white, fluttering as though made of feathers, and that one is too brilliant to see, yet he can. He reaches out with no arms, reaches out with his _mind_, screaming at the anchor to hear him. Just like that he's got hold of it. He doesn't know how he _knows_ he's got it, but he does, and he hangs on for dear life.

Dear life. His life. He's _got_ to be alive still. A bust of Virgil floats just out of reach and his heart cries out as he sees Alan follow. Then his father, then John. Gordon. Tin-Tin. Brains. His grandmother. They're all there, he's got to get back to them, there's no time to waste, he's simply _got_ to!

Pristine white feathers covering the anchor he's caught hold of seem to ruffle, as though the anchor was a living thing shaking itself like he so often saw chickens and turkeys do on his grandparents' farm. He feels the feathers now, somehow, without any fingertips to feel with. They are so soft, smooth. Silky and calm. He feels like he might be laying his face against them and as soon as he thinks it, he feels like someone's there.

_It's all right. You'll be all right._

The voice seems to come from everywhere and nowhere, as though it's inside him, whispering in a way that only he can hear. But his family, he's got to know if they're okay! What of Virgil in the Domo? Or Gordon and John mere feet from where he stood?

_You're hurt._

Hurt. He's hurt. Of course he's hurt! But what about his _brothers_?

_Slow down._

He _can't_ slow down, he's a man of action, not rest! They might need him!

_You are needed, but don't try to get back too fast._

None of this makes sense, his mind is reeling and oh _fuck_ his head hurts like someone took a sledgehammer to the back of his skull and is still pounding away, trying to kill him. _No!_ he cries out within his thoughts and grasps the anchor even tighter. His family can't live without him, they can't, they won't keep going, it'll kill _them_ if he dies. He's always stayed alive for _them_.

_Take your time, let your body heal a little first._

Heal. Heal. There isn't time to heal. Dammit, nobody is listening, nobody wants to listen out here in the ether, wherever this is! He has to fight, he's _always_ had to fight. He never stays down no matter how injured he is, always signing out of the hospital Against Medical Advice, always making sure he's there to see that everyone else is okay no matter how much pain he's in.

He's been taking care of them practically their entire lives. He takes care of them now. He can't stop doing it or something will go wrong. Without him there, one of his brothers...no, he must go back _now_!

_If you don't stop fighting, you will die._

His thoughts are brought up short. He waffles a moment, every instinct he has pushing him, pushing him, _ordering_ him to return now, to get back to them _now_. But the voice, this voice says he'll die if he keeps trying to do the thing his mind is screaming at him to do.

_They need you back in one piece. You can't take care of them if you don't let yourself heal._

Not taking care of them? Not an option. _Not_ an option! He will damn well do so because that's his role, it's what he does. Whether as kids or at home on Tracy Island or out in the field, dammit, he is the eldest, he is their leader.

_Then listen to me. Stay safely here with me now, for only a short while. Then you can return._

He feels sleepy, so sleepy. The feathers are soft, they soothe. The light is no longer as blinding and he takes comfort in the arms that feel as though they're wrapping around him. But...he...there's something he's got to do, he can't...he can't let himself go, he just...

_Heal, Scott. Take the time to heal. You're safe here. You're safe._

The last things he sees are his grandfather and mother smiling, her arms cradling her firstborn as she'd done the day he was born.

_Rest now._

Mom...

Suddenly he's jolted awake. Pain so intense, lights so blinding, he cries out against it and the feathers, the anchor, they're gone. Mom, Grandpa, they're gone. Loud noises he can't place, and all at once he's free falling. His stomach goes into his throat, images and colors and scenes and letters and lights whizzing by so fast he can't possibly make them all out.

He yells and fights, flailing, finds no purchase, feels fear like he's never known before and then without so much as a whisper it stops. Everything just stops. No lights. No cacophony of sounds. No screaming. Nothing.

He becomes aware of a faint, steady sound. It's familiar, but it won't come together to a single thought in his mind. He hears it and he knows it means something bad has happened.

_Beep...beep...beep...beep._

It's steady and sure.

_Beep...beep...beep...beep._

He's being touched. He feels a squeeze somewhere and tries with all his might to squeeze back.

"Scott?"

_Virgil..._

He's back.

"He squeezed my hand, Dad."

_Dad..._

He's _back_!

"Oh, thank God."

_Grandma..._

The voices fade.

Sleep envelops him in its warm embrace.

Whether it had been Lucy or someone else, the feathered anchor had been right. He'd stopped fighting, then, as it had told him to. And now? Now Scott's come back to them after all.

"I love you, Scott."

_Virgil..._

He feels the ghost of a smile upon his face as sleep claims him.


End file.
